


Somewhere I Have Never Traveled (Gladly Beyond)

by bolero



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Angst, Based On Poetry, Fluff, Hospital, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, POV First Person, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-26
Updated: 2010-08-26
Packaged: 2017-10-11 06:36:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/109520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bolero/pseuds/bolero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>People asked me later why I did it, and I didn't know. I wasn't happy, but I wasn't sad. I was numb; hollow inside like a carved pumpkin; a cocky, foolish jack-o'-lantern grin sawed into my face.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Somewhere I Have Never Traveled (Gladly Beyond)

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a prompt at anon_lovefest on LJ. The prompt/request was: _"Peterick based on E.E. Cummings' Somewhere I Have Never Traveled. I don't care what you do with it, it's just so damn beautiful and loving that it needs to be written." _ I read the poem for the first time and was completely taken by it, and you can find it [here](http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/15401).

I fell in love with you after that day in the parking lot.

People asked me later why I did it, and I didn't know. I wasn't happy, but I wasn't sad. I was numb; hollow inside like a carved pumpkin; a cocky, foolish jack-o'-lantern grin sawed into my face.

I said I called our manager but I didn't, I called you. I said my mom picked me up but she didn't, you did. After I'd watched my hands push three, four, eleven small blue pills into my mouth, the next thing I remember is the washed-out white of the hospital walls and the consistent chiming of the heart monitor. Your hand was still clenched around mine, even as you rested without peace in the vinyl waiting chair. I stared at you until I, too, fell into sleep.

You didn't even ask me where to go when I was discharged, we just went to your house without discussion. The sleeper sofa was already pulled out and ready for you to sleep on; you told me that I'd be in your bed, no-ifs-ands-or-buts-thank-you-very-much.

It happened near three-a.m. I hadn't slept at all, so I poked around the bookshelf in your room until I found a nondescript, tattered, olive-green book at the end of the top row. The book of poems smelled musty when I opened it, like it had been sitting in a cardboard box or steamer trunk and only recently remembered. I flipped the pages, seeing which ones were undoubtedly your favorites (since they were dog-eared), and read the prose hungrily, sometimes reading the same poems two or three times to pull my own meanings. I was lost in a particularly strong verse when I heard your bedroom door creak.

You stepped inside cautiously, then caught my eyes. "Hey, Pete…" you started softly, "Can't sleep either?"

I shook my head, shrugged. "Just thinking," I commented vaguely.

"Me too," you said.

The comment hung lightly above me, and I pulled back the covers on my side. "Sit with me?" I asked.

You only hesitated for a second, then climbed in slowly. You smelled just like your bed; mint and Bounce dryer sheets and a hint of your favorite cologne. Instantly, I felt comforted, and laid back down, pressing my cheek against your fluffy pillows.

You seemed calm, but I could see the rise and fall of your nervous breathing. I figured you had enough to be unsure about – being this close to me, me being in your bed, not to mention the whole reason I was staying at your house in the first place. So I placed a hand lightly on your arm, and you turned your head to look at me.

The voice of your silent eyes spoke novels. I read them line by line, until you moved down to be parallel with me.

"I'm sorry I put you through this, Patrick," I whispered.

You didn't answer at first, just pulled me in to you, my knees knocking into yours and arms looped around my back.

"I was scared I was going to lose you," you had finally said.

You looked at me, and I felt my heart unclose. A warm, seeping feeling that spread outward from my chest, up to the crown of my head and down to the pads of my bare feet. So, this is love.

I don't know who leaned in first. But we met in the middle, pressing our lips together softly. My head swam in the new feeling of kissing not just while actually sober, not just someone I cared about, but kissing you. Like I now knew I always wanted and like I should have been doing for years and years and not wasting on groupies across the country and horny techs and anyone else who I thought might actually make me feel something for once.

You pulled back lightly to change position and kissed me again, still light and sweet. I know you were waiting to let me make a move if I wanted. You always had more patience than me. I pushed the tip of my tongue against your lips and you welcomed me in.

I normally felt so strong in my own skin that it startled me to feel so fragile. But you held me so delicately – with confident adoration, not worried fear – that I didn't know what to expect. You cradled my face and pulled lightly, then your mouth pressed into the corner of mine. I felt the glow on my skin again as you moved to touch your lips against my cheek, the bridge of my nose, and onto each of my closed eyes.

The lines surrounding my mouth felt foreign as they stretched into a genuine grin. I slowly opened my eyes to see a smile mirroring my own facing me. We just paused there together, radiating and catching our breath. I absently ran a hand into your strawberry blonde hair; check if you're real. You are. You press a palm into my chest; search for my heart beat. It's there.

Wanting inexplicably to crawl into your skin, my hands settled to slide under your cotton T-shirt and hold on to the skin of your back. I feel safe, hopeful, elated.

And it was you opened me, petal by petal, until I felt new again.


End file.
